


I'm Fine

by congotsja



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eichen | Echo House, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Schizophrenia, the schizophrenia is just suspected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congotsja/pseuds/congotsja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not crazy, dad.” Stiles begged. “I do see them. Every day. Everywhere. My best friend is one.”</p><p>“Scott?” The sheriff chuckled. “Your asthmatic suffering best friend? A person with glow sticks for eyes?”</p><p>“Dad, please, he’s a werewolf!”</p><p>The sheriff looked at him. “Son, Scott is not a creature of the night.”</p><p>“No,” Stiles agreed complacently. “He’s a creature of the moon.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illusemywords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/gifts).



Stiles glanced up at the old, mouldy building, staring sharply at his father. “Dad,” he whispered, throat hurt from incessant babble, “please.”

His father sighed, looking at the ground and placing his comforting arms over his boy in a hope of reassurance. “I know, son, but Deaton said it’d help.”

Stiles swirled round, anger vibrant in the etches of his face. “ _Deaton?_ ” He half-shouted in fury. “Dad, Deaton’s a veterinarian. Not a fucking doctor.”

“Language,” his dad chided. “Deaton’s been here before, Stiles. He helped that guy recover.”

“Ennis.” Stiles said through gritted teeth. He flapped his arms, annoyed. “And look how that turned out. Ennis, suffering from _hallucinations_ and he had _dementia_. He went insane, dad. I’m scared, dad. I don’t want to end up like Ennis.”

The sheriff frowned, running a stubby hand through his son’s hair. “Shh,” he whispered reassuringly. “It’s just a test run.”

“That’s what everyone says.” Stiles said, pulling himself away from his father’s grip. “Thanks, dad. See you when I’m a nut job.”

“Stiles.” The sheriff said sharply. “You are my son. This will help you, trust me.”

“I’m not crazy, dad.” Stiles begged. “I _do_ see them. Every day. Everywhere. My best friend is one.”

“Scott?” The sheriff chuckled. “Your asthmatic suffering best friend? A person with glow sticks for eyes?”

“Dad, please, he’s a werewolf!”

The sheriff looked at him. “Son, Scott is not a creature of the night.”

“No,” Stiles agreed complacently. “He’s a creature of the _moon_.”

His father rubbed a hand over his stressed, wrinkled face. “I’m sorry, Stiles. Your mother would hate me for putting you in here. It’s for the best.”

Stiles glared at his father. “Mom would’ve believed me.”

The sheriff stood stock still, unable to reassure his son with a decent retort. Stiles laughed sarcastically, looked at the building and sighed.

“Bye, dad.”

The sheriff nodded, dreading that this parting felt like a final goodbye. “I can go in with you. I don’t think we got your pillow.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “ _Bye_ , dad.”

The sheriff grimaced, upset. “Bye, son.”

He watched his son leave and waited until the door had shut.

He was doing the right thing.

***

There were more steps than Stiles was expecting. He trudged up them slowly, avoiding eye contact with the man stood at the entrance. He wasn’t crazy. He didn’t belong in here.

“You must be Mr Stilinski,” the man said, reaching forward and grabbing Stiles’ chin. He titled his face up, examining each side with eyes like a hawk. “In for schizophrenia.”

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles spat, meeting the man’s eyes with a strong glare. “I’m here because I know things. I know things that I shouldn’t know and I don’t belong here.”

The man smiled sharply. “Morrell! Take our newest resident to the quiet room. He needs to keep his mouth shut while we sort out the documents and daddy’s payment.”

Stiles glared, ripping his chin from the man’s sharp grip. “Leave my father alone. He’s already got enough to deal with.”

The man nodded. “Right. Of course. We still need that payment. Okay. Morrell!”

Stiles frowned as the woman emerged. She looked oddly familiar, like he’d seen her before. His eyes widened in realisation. “You’re Deaton’s sister! The emissary!”

Morrell frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who Deaton is. What’s an emissary?”

Stiles grimaced, glancing quickly at the thin man. “He’s the local veterinarian… Sorry. You must just look like her. A lot. Like his sister, I mean.”

“I’m an only child,” the woman said. “Come on, you need some rest. Brunski, I can take it from here. Let the kid get settled in before you hassle him.”

“Hassle?” Brunski chuckled, his sharp voice making Stiles flinch. “I treat all our residents with the respect they deserve.”

Morrell frowned, gently placing her hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “What’s your name? I’ll look on the list and find your room while you have a shower.”

“I had a shower before I came,” Stiles said, reluctance in his voice. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed. I don’t want to be here.”

“No one wants to be here,” Morrell said, her tone gentle but voice piercing. “We’re just trying to help you.”

Stiles nodded, eyes glazed with exhaustion. “I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

“Okay, Stiles, give me a minute.” She paused outside a metal door, scanning the paper in her hand. “Stilinski… Stilinski… Ahh,” she frowned. “Your first name isn’t listed as Stiles.”

“Stiles is the name I choose to go by.” He announced, daring her to contradict his choice.

“I can see why,” Morrell agreed, brown eyes taking in the boy’s name. “Is that even pronounceable?”

Stiles bristled. “It’s my name. My mom named me after my grandfather.”

Morrell nodded. “Okay, so you’re in room 312. Your roommate is Isaac Lahey. Nice kid, tried to murder his father, but we’re convinced he was provoked due to copious amounts of abuse.”

“Great. Perfect. Just what I want, to be stuck with someone who tried to murder his family.”

Morrell frowned. “Everyone is in here for a reason, Mr Stilinski. Including you. Don’t forget that.”

Stiles bit his lip to prevent himself from retorting. It wouldn’t do any good.

They stopped outside a grimy brown door. The numbers 312 were faded and almost camouflaged. Stiles reached for the handle and grimaced when it wouldn’t open with a few good tugs.

“You need a key,” Morrell said. She removed a bunch of keys from her pocket and slotted the key into the lock. “Hi, Isaac,” she smiled. “How was your day?”

“I’m still here.” Isaac answered in response, glaring at the ceiling.

Stiles frowned as he entered the room, taking in the surroundings. There were two plain white beds, and one window. “Is this it?” he asked.

“You get used to it,” Isaac said from where he sat on the edge of his bed. “I’ve been here for a year and I’m used to this fucking place.”

Stiles nodded, glancing at the boy. He looked older than Stiles, though that may have been due to his long limbs. The other boy had blond curly hair and sharp cheekbones. Stiles frowned as he sized his roommate up. This was the boy that had tried to murder his own father?

“You’re judging me,” Isaac said suddenly, hazel eyes fixed firmly on Stiles. “Don’t worry, everyone does. I’m judging you in return.” He turned to Morrell. “What’s he in for?”

“Suspected schizophrenia.” Morrell responded. She flipped her list and smiled. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I expect Isaac will show you what to do tomorrow, Mr Stilinski.”

“Stiles,” Stiles said, as she left the room, holding out his hand to the boy.

“Isaac, but you already knew that.” Isaac said in response. “This place sucks.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He’d only been there for half an hour at most but the grey walls and barred windows made him feel anxious. “I can’t believe I’m here. I’m not crazy.”

Isaac frowned, leaning up on his hands. “Not crazy? But you’re in for schizophrenia.”

“I have hallucinations, apparently, and I have difficulty sleeping.” Stiles said, rubbing his neck with his hand. It was burning. “I should never have told my dad werewolves were real.”

Isaac flailed on his bed. “Werewolves?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, laying back so he could be more comfortable. “I forgot my pillow. I never go anywhere without my pillow.”

“You’ll have to deal,” Isaac said impatiently. Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked him. “Now, what were you saying about werewolves?”

“Ugh, you don’t believe me, do you?” Stiles said, throwing his head back on the covers. “Nobody ever believes me.”

Isaac grimaced. “Sorry, dude, but werewolves? That’s farfetched.”

Stiles rubbed his eyelids, exhausted. “My best friend is a werewolf. He was bitten by an Alpha, Isaac, I saw it happen.”

“Did he suddenly become a dog?” Isaac said starkly, his monotone voice hiding how humorous he thought the situation was. “Was he attracted to lampposts?”

“No,” Stiles said. “He was an actual werewolf. His eyes turn into yellow glow sticks. Hair literally grows from his cheeks and then will immediately disappear, and if I randomly stabbed him, it would just magically heal.”

Isaac glanced at Stiles, intrigued. “You really are insane.”

“Oh great, that’s comforting!” Stiles said, rubbing his hands together. “God, even murderer over there thinks I’m a nutcase.”

Isaac frowned. “You’re not as bad as Lydia Martin. Thinks she can hear voices and predict death. No one has any idea what’s wrong with that girl.”

“Dude,” Stiles whimpered. “I’m not insane. I saw Scott turn into a werewolf. I wouldn’t make anything that crazy up. I’ve saved his neck so many times. This is what I get in return.”

Isaac glanced at him. “Sorry.”

Stiles glared at the taller boy. “I’m not insane.”

“Fine!” Isaac said, exasperated. “I don’t care. Just go to sleep. Nice to meet you, whatever two inpatients are supposed to say to each other when being roomies. Go to sleep. We both have a counselling session with Morrell tomorrow.”

Stiles sighed, trying to get comfortable. “I can’t sleep without my pillow.”

Isaac groaned and threw his own pillow at the boy. “Go to sleep.” He demanded.

Stiles felt himself grinning. At least Isaac cared enough to find him irritating.

***

“Have you been awake all night?” Isaac asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“I told you, I find it hard to sleep.” Stiles responded, not moving from his stationary position staring out the window.

“Yeah, yeah, you need your pillow,” Isaac responded. “I learnt that last night, when I threw my goddamned forsaken pillow at you.”

Stiles smiled. “Thanks for that, man.”

Isaac rubbed at his neck bitterly. “I don’t think my neck’s ever going to feel the same.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “When do we have that counselling session?”

“Ugh, we have breakfast first. Come on, you need something to eat. You’re almost skinner than I am.”

Stiles felt a grin tugging at the edge of his lips. Isaac was sarcastic and irritating, but Stiles liked him all the more for that. “Show me the way, all mighty leader.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and pointed towards a big room. Several round tables were placed inside, with seven or eight people on each one. There was a long queue of people around the same age as him holding trays. Stiles released they were getting breakfast.

Isaac led him to the line, pausing at the end. They got their food and then Isaac led him to one of the tables.

“Right,” he said, tired. “This is Stiles. He’s new. He thinks werewolves are real, so be careful with him.” He smiled and looked at Stiles. “What do you want to know?”

Stiles looked at the people gazing at him. He didn’t like the scrutiny. “Hi. I’m Stiles and I’m not insane. Werewolves _are_ real.”

“I know,” one of the girls said, tossing her strawberry-blonde hair. “I’m Lydia Martin. I am apparently insane. I’m not. I’m as sane as anyone else in here. Right, Allison?”

Allison jumped slightly, eyes flicking from Lydia to Stiles. “Right, Lydia.” She frowned, glancing at Stiles. “Wait. I know you. You’re Scott’s friend.”

“You know Scott?” Stiles asked, raising one inquisitive eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Allison replied, gifting Stiles with a radiant smile. “He was going to take me to the winter formal before I got thrown in here.”

“Oh.” Stiles said, racking his brains. “Wait, you’re _that_ Allison? The one Scotty can’t shut up about?”

Allison blushed and met his eyes. “I’m not what you were expecting, am I?”

Stiles shook his head. “I was imagining someone with bambi eyes and a lot of innocence. Not some brown haired beauty who looks like she can take care of herself in a fight.”

Allison positively beamed at the compliment. “I can definitely take care of myself. You should see me with my crossbow.”

Stiles paused. “Crossbow? Wow.”

Allison smiled. “I like this one.”

The boy next to her rolled his eyes. “He’s Scott Mccall’s friend.  He’s probably just as much of a loser.”

Allison frowned and glared at the boy. “Scott’s a good guy, Jackson.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said smarmily. “With a werewolf believing best friend.”

Stiles glared. “You’re in here as well, dick.”

Jackson pursed his lips together. “At least I don’t believe in fucking werewolves. That’s just messed up.”

Lydia glared. “Jackson, play nice. We’re all stuck in here. We might as well learn to get along with everyone if we ever want to get to the top again.”

Jackson shrunk in his chair. “Okay, Lydia.”

Lydia beamed. “Okay,” she said to Stiles. “You’ve already met Isaac, Allison and Jackson. This is Malia, Boyd and Erica.”

Stiles nodded at the other three. Malia narrowed her eyes and waved with a certain aggressiveness. Boyd grunted and Erica raised an eyebrow as she studied him.

“Stiles Stilinski.” Erica said suddenly. “I remember you. We went to elementary school together.”

“Erica…” Stiles frowned, thinking. “Wait, you were the girl with really frizzy hair.” He paused, looking at her. “You’ve changed. A lot. You look really good.”

Erica nodded, beaming. “I have changed. For the better, as you can tell.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

Malia looked at him. She grinned, her smile almost predatory. “You believe in werewolves?”

Stiles paused, unsure how to respond, and nodded. “I believe in what I see.”

Malia grinned wolfishly. “I like you.”

Stiles relaxed, feeling infinitely better at being accepted to this odd group so quickly. “You lot are cool. So,” he looked at Isaac for guidance. “What happens next?”

“Counselling session,” Lydia interrupted, making Isaac glare at her. “I have them more frequently than the others.”

Stiles nodded. “That’s annoying. Who goes first? Is it by surname?”

“Whoever they think needs the most help,” Boyd spoke up, his voice surprisingly deep.

“Oh, great,” Stiles said sarcastically. “That probably means I’m up first.”

“For being a werewolf believer?” Malia said, smiling. “I don’t think that’s worrying. I think it’s cool.”

Stiles smiled. “Thanks.”

“Stiles,” a hand was suddenly on his shoulder, making him jump. He looked up, panicking. He calmed down when he saw it was just Morrell and not Brunski. That man gave him the creeps. “Time for your session. Follow me.”

Stiles nodded, leaving Isaac and the others behind. Morrell held his shoulder until they made their way to a quiet room, with just a desk and two chairs.

“Wow, do you live here? Great place. Really.”

Morrell smiled. “Have a seat.” She waited patiently as Stiles sat down. “Now Stiles, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Stiles paused. “No one believes me.” He said, eventually.

“And why do you think that is?”

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Stiles asked, harshly. “I think werewolves are real. I _know_ they are. No one believes me.”

“We’re trying to help you, Stiles.” Morrell said softly. “You need to go past that mind-set. Think of a world where werewolves don’t exist. A time before you thought they were real. What was that world like?”

Stiles frowned, trying to remember. “Different.” He muttered. “My relationship with dad wasn’t as good. He drank a lot. We just lost mom. It was hell. I felt like I was drowning. I _still_ feel like I’m drowning.”

Morrell nodded, scribbling something down.

“I’m fine.” Stiles said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “I’m _fine_.”

Morrell nodded. “Think of something Winston Churchill once said. If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

***

“Stiles! Dude! Wake up!”

“Scott?” Stiles muttered, eyes trying to make sense of the image in front of him. “Scott!”

Scott enveloped him in a hug. “Don’t do that to me again. Stiles, I thought you were _dead_.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked, looking at Scott.

“The fae attacked,” Derek spoke up from behind Stiles, making him jump. “We don’t know exactly what they did, but you wouldn’t wake up until Deaton gave you this injection.”

Stiles went pale. “He gave me an injection? Scott, you _know_ I’m not good with needles.”

Scott shrugged, rubbing his hand over his arm. “Yeah, but dude, you’re fine now. What was going on in your head?”

Stiles shuddered as he recalled the events in his head. “You have no idea, man. I’m glad to see you. Also, werewolves are real, right?”

Scott looked at him, bemused. “Stiles, you _know_ they’re real. I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles said. “I’m not insane. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asked.

Derek frowned. “He’s fine, Scott. He’s making just as much sense as usual.”

Scott nodded, a frown still tugging at his lips. “If you say so.”

Stiles nodded, beaming at his friends. “I’m _fine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just written for fun.


End file.
